Tuesday, April 29, 2008

At the backside of Columbus Center,which previously was only a Circle,I kill time—having walked twenty-six blocks up Ninth—in a café, not a bar.The movements are the same.

The center’s twin towers risein perfect parallellike a key from the future. The two frame,between them, an equally shaped boltof severe blue; together the threelook like the optical illusionin which a fork’s tines appear variouslyto be four or three.

I am unfamiliarwith this part of the city,save for the day, nearlya year ago now, when I wentto inspect an outpatient rehabwith a soon-to-be sponsee,and coming here

assaults me and my balance,a head-rush when one standsup too quickly, or how in Abu Dhabithe city spread out before melike a dusty Oriental rug:I can only ever know a cornerof anything.And what if everythingis similar?

Only a corner of Carolyn,ever a sliver of Serena.Perhaps within my own self underthick opaque icewarm seas I’ll never seeslosh and wash, submerged,unknown underwater peaksof my blinkered consciousness.

2 comments:

That is so awesome. It feels like something I should read, vaguely understand, then study, and still not fully understand, but definitely love a lot more. So, I think this poem's a bit like an equation, or a woman.